


Me, Her and the Moon

by trouserbananas



Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Angst, Art References, Colour-sorted memories, F/F, Feels, Kissing, Slow dancing to 20's jazz, Tommy's a bastard, as my dear friend knows i'm capable of shipping absolutely anyone with absolutely anyone, but i'm kinda (kIIIIINNDDDDDA) proud of this thing, hello everyone, it's almost two in the morning and i have barely slept and i am losing my mind, so welcome to the ride, yeah i don't know what the fuck is going on either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trouserbananas/pseuds/trouserbananas
Summary: It's a mesmerizing battle of colours, all the versions of love.





	Me, Her and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> FOR: MY ONE AND ONLY ROLLING HOE MARTINKA I LOVE YOUUUU
> 
> I messed a lot with the timeline, but this fic takes place during the second half of season 1, and stretches out to, like, six months after its ending.  
> Basically, it's Ada's POV the whole time, only the short bits in the middle written in italic are Grace.  
> enjoy! and please, let me know what y'all think!

The moment the needle hits the edge of the vinyl for the twenty-seventh time that evening, it's  _her_  again.

After listening to the song for the past two hours, Ada has learned the sound of the words, every syllable, every note of the melody, by heart. 

She isn’t able to understand the words, nonetheless.

 _My knowledge of French is as terrible as of anything else_ , she thinks, and it tastes bitter in her mouth.

Still, it's her.

_Grace._

A tremor runs through her chest, for a thousandth time that evening, and it still hasn’t lost a slightest bit of its strength. It still knocks all the air from her lungs, makes her guts churn. 

The fist tightened around Ada's stomach squeezes even more.

It's always the worst when she's here.

The living room.

 _Grace's_  living room. 

It isn’t that small, but Ada feels hugged by the walls. All the memories popping out of every corner are suffocating her, all the flashing colours and images are giving her a headache.

White. Flowers. White roses, freshly cut. Grace brought them home and put them in a vase on the coffee table.

-

_Afternoon. Green tea without sugar. One time, with salt, because Ada wasn’t paying attention, and when Grace saw the pure horror in her eyes as she first tasted it, she snorted so hard the tea came out of her nose._

-

Red. Grace’s dress. Softly spinning around her calves when she was cleaning the room, wiping the dust from the windowsills and humming to herself.

-

_One evening, Ada came early. Too early. She heard some slow jazzy song through the door, when she was standing at her porch, and caught Grace dancing to it, barefoot, smiling. Looking so happy and free it felt forbidden for Ada to watch. Grace flinched when she finally noticed her, and then they both laughed and Ada still can't shake the whole image from the inside of her eyelids._

_She was supposed to take the evening train to London and Grace would pick her up on the station, but Tommy noticed her packing the books, and the food and wine._

_He didn't even knock. He just stood there and stared, cigarette dangling from his lips._

_(He's Tommy Shelby, she scoffed later, why should he knock on the door of his sister's room?)_

_Before she could hide what she was doing, or shelter it with a canonade of excuses and pre-made up stories, Arthur came into the room as well._

_,,Going on a trip, are ya, Ada?'' he laughed._

_Sometimes she wondered how could his eyes be so warm, while his brother's stung with ice coldness._

_,,Wondering the same.'' Tommy said, staring at her._

_He took a slow drag from the cigarette._

_Over the years, she grew to hate his voice. His look. The way he felt like he owns everyone around him._

_Ada put the last book on the pile on the bed and crossed her arms on her chest. ,,To a friend.''_

_It felt wrong and strangely thrilling, saying it._

_Arthur dissapeared in the kitchen. ,,Yeah, but don't think I will let ya wander all alone in the streets! What do we have the bloody cars for, right, Tommy?''_

_The staring contest between Ada and Tommy continued. He wasn't going to yield_ (no, for Christ's sake, how could he?), _but Ada wasn't planning to, either. She's been a coward for too long._

_,,Friend it is, then?''_

_The smoke went out of Tommy's nose._

_,,Yes,'' she said firmly, shivering, ,,Friend it is.''_

_For Ada, red is the colour of hate, too._

_-_

Green. Her old, beloved gramophone, sitting on the table in her kitchen, small, scratched at the sides. Almost always broken. They got it repaired three times.

_-_

_The one afternoon the repairman was supposed to come, they waited four bloody hours. Ada spent the time standing by the window, violently cursing and yelling at everyone who passed by. Grace was frustrated as well, but kept examining the broken thing, trying to figure out how they could fix it themselves. She kept muttering the new solutions under her breath as they came to her mind, a bit to Ada, a bit to herself, a bit to the record player._

_She loved it so much._

_Ada couldn't even adjust the clock right, but she wouldn't tell her._

_When some old lady with three huge dogs on chains dissapeared around the corner, she finally decided._

_,,Fuck this,'' she gestured to the gramophone and Grace looked up with hurt expression, ,,I'm taking you out.''_

_Her stomach has been fluttering with the nervous excitement for the past few minutes, while she was gaining courage to actually say it out loud, but what made her heart do a breathless pirouette, was the widen in Grace's eyes, the mischievous smile. Her look flicked to the side for a moment, her finger scratched at the wood of the table. ,,...What if he comes after we leave?''_

_Ada shrugged. ,,His problem.''_

_Hours later, they were on their way out of Ada's favourite sweetshop, carrying packs with all kinds of different sweets, giggling uncontrolablly at the thought of the poor repairman pounding at their door._

_Grace had sugar on her lips. Ada wanted to kiss it away._

-

Blue. The dress. Shoulders and soft skin and violet perfume-

Oh fucking  _Christ-_

Heavy drunk butterflies explode in Ada’s stomach, and she gasps and leans her head back to rest on the couch.

 -  
  
_,,Do you have everything?’’ Ada shouted, quickly skimming the wardrobe with her eyes._

_,,What?’’ Grace’s voice resonated through the bathroom wall._

_The shoes._

_,,Fuck-‘’ she spat, immediately storming through the corridor- ,,The shoes, Grace!’’_

_A few splashes echoed, as she was washing her face. They’ve woken up five minutes ago and the train to Loughborough was leaving in barely half an hour. ,,What?’’_

_It sounded choked and breathy, as if she’s just accidentally inhaled the water, and Ada's chest fluttered involuntarily._

_She kicked the bathroom door open and the words froze in her throat for a split second._

_Grace was leaning over the washbasin in her underwear, hair messy and falling in her eyes._

_,,…I said we left the shoes outside.’’ she informed her, more serious than she meant to sound, because it was an effort to get her tone under control._

_Grace gasped. A drop of water fell from her hands to the sink. ,,Oh Ch-‘’_

_,,No, no, it’s alright, you’ll borrow mine,’’ Ada turned on her heel and rushed back to the bedroom, ,,Just hurry!’’_

_It had been raining for the whole night, and it still drizzled slightly. The shoes were most likely soaked, but Ada left them damned on the balcony and tore the wardrobe open again. ,,What will you wear?!’’_

_Grace didn’t have much clothes. There were no fur coats or miles-long shawls like in Ada's dressing room, no evening gowns or cloches in every imaginable colour. Her dresses were simple and cheap, but from reliable, thick fabric, even though moths had bitten their way through the seams in the sleeves. Some of the skirts were once torn, and then repaired and sewn back together with clean, neat stitches. Some clothes had permanent stains, which will probably never disappear no matter how hard Grace tried to scrub them away with salt, how long she left the blouses in a bucket of warm water under her sink._

_The only remaining solution for her to wear something vaguely representable to the meeting, was to borrow Ada's dress, too._

-

So she did.

 

_-_

_(Her hands; soft and rough and curious._

_Her lips; hot and freezing on her ear._

_It's wonderfully, beautifully torturing, and Grace doesn't want to wait anymore, and Ada's eyes are wide, clouded, as she looks at both of them in the mirror._

_The dress is loose around her hips and short below her knees. They've shared clothes before, but never a dress._

_Ada's fingers clasp the last button into place, and a soft kiss gets pressed into the side of Grace's neck._

_,,We don't have time,'' she whispers._

_It's both heart-breaking and broken-hearted.)_

_-_

 

 

Outside, as well as in her mind, a massive storm is raging. 

Every dozen of seconds a lightning illuminates the room in neon blue and purple, tearing the sky apart for a deafening thunder to march in after a moment. The rain looks more like bullets pounding against the window, daring to break it.

It reminds her brothers of the war, weather like this.

The wind forces the drenched trees to bend down and kiss the soaked grass, the mud underneath.

The earthy humidity replaced every other possible smell, except for the cigarette smoke curling from Ada’s lips, and something stale and sweet. Grace’s perfume.

It reminds Ada of war as well.

On the floor beside her lies an empty bottle of rum. It wasn't even half full at the start, absolutely _not enough_  for Ada to get pass out drunk as she needed to. 

Her throat burns, and feels numb at the same time, as if she’s been screaming for hours. She rubs her eyes with her palms and shakes her head at herself. 

She can picture Tommy's face, if he'd see her like this. On the floor, in dirty stocking, her nightgown stained with rum she stole from the cabinet in Grace's kitchen. His features wouldn't change from his usual cold, stoic look, because that's how he cares about everything, his own sister's well-being included. 

There's also other scenarios, however. He doesn't know that Ada fucked more women than men since the past two years, and he isn't going to find out anytime soon.

She imagines how he would react if she would spit  _I fucked the woman who betrayed you_ , in his face, the same way he throws she can hear herself say, proudly looking into his eyes, blue and too bright, but it's not powerful, cause it's not true. And because fucking doesn't mean anything to Tommy by now. He sleeps with every woman that lays an eye on him, and they all look the same. Confident, with the perfect mixture of naivety and mysterious cynicism, eyes wide and suspicious, jaws sharp and mouths crimson red and it's pathetic. Insulting, to them, to himself, to Ada. To Grace.

Whenever she sees another leaving out of Tommy's room, she thanks heavens that she's in London. 

 _I love her._ Now  _that_  would ruin him.  _I love her I love her I love her and it kills me and sets me free and makes me a fucking prisoner of your past._  

There's no confidence in the words when she whispers it.

Ada has grown to realize that she would sometimes do  _everything_  to see any emotion in the face of a man people call her brother. For her, it's desperately seeking revenge and the twisted form of comfort that every Shelby is used to.

She buries her face in her hands. Her mind is fuzzy and even more vulnerable, susceptible to every memory, every image and sound, and everything is  _Grace, Grace, Grace_.

,,I need a fucking pipe, too,’’ she mocks herself bitterly, out loud, but it's addressed to Tommy.

 

 -

 ( _She looks holy and resembles an actual sin._  

_Grace is drunk and doesn't know if she wants to press her against the window, the starry sky as a background, or to be the one framed against it by her hands._

_Her laugh is carefree and stunning and echoes through the hotel corridor._

_,,And we'll order champagne and the big strawberry cake, and- fucking hell, Grace, we can eat whatever we want!''_

_Someone in a room makes a shushing sound. She doesn't even turn around, just yells:_   _,,Fuck off, I'm Ada fucking Shelby!'' over her shoulder._

_She takes Grace's hand and they run to their room, and when the door closes behind them they burst out laughing and don't stop until their ribs start to hurt._

_The name Shelby hurts less if it's just Ada.)_

 -

 

The record still spins. Ada's looking for a piece of paper and a pen, overcome with creativity in her half-drunk despair.

 _The thought of you leaving makes me suffocate_ , resonates in her head, and  _the storm suits her face like a night suits the sky,_ too, and she isn't sure what she means by it, but it captures Grace, and that's all she needs. 

As a child, Ada despised the poems and stories their teacher forced them to write for English class. She'd sit at the table in the kitchen, stare from the window and drag her pen across the page, angry and frustrated. The paper tore and the tip of the pen bent and then broke in half because of how forceful she was. 

Sometimes, the ink leaked through her notebook and ended up on the tablecloth. John would take it off, tried to scrub away the stains, and then put it back, placing a vase with flowers on the huge spot to cover it up.  

Their mum would slap them both the same, after she'd find out.

(Ada becomes teary-eyed at the memories.)

Being with Grace seemed to unlock something in her perception of art in general. They went to galleries, but she always caught herself admiring Grace’s features more than the sculptures and paintings themselves. One time, when Grace was away, she went there alone. It felt almost like betraying her, but then it became a habit. She would stroll through the rooms for hours, stop before every woman sculpted into marble, every face gazing at Ada from the canvas on the wall

None of them was as beautiful as Grace.

One night, as she threw her shawl around her shoulders on her way out, she swore that if all the current artists are too busy painting their boring muses and tragic landscapes, she will fill all the galleries of England with her blonde hair and soft hands and elegant posture and eyes that always seemed to know more than you.

Words, however, were a completely different chapter. 

Ada became obsessed with capturing everything around Grace into metaphors and analogies, the raw emotions being wrapped into clever phrasings and comparisons to something equally as beautiful. She realized her vocabulary is painfully thin. 

Working in the library became a blessing and a curse.

She took almost every book from the poetry section, hid it in the drawers in her desk, and secretly read. After a week of doing so, the complaints arrived, about why is the entire shelf practically empty, and why does it take three aggressive shouts for Ada to raise her head from the book and finally help the frustrated customer. 

There was one book. Old, the white cover dirty and torn so horribly the title and the author disappeared. But Ada knew it must have been a woman’s hand writing the verses, for she believed no man could ever capture the heaviness of the swollen heart, aching with love and soft admiration, and all the dreams that Ada desperately wishes to continue when she opens her eyes into the darkness. 

She stole it.

Just waited until her boss disappeared in the science department one afternoon, looked around the almost empty room, and stuck it into her bag with an absolutely stoic expression. Then, she erased all three dates the book was borrowed in the last five years from the records. Later, when some woman asked for cooking books, she got up with a bright smile and lead her to the back shelfs. She made sure to shot the old librarian a look of pure revengeful confidence, and watched her wrinkled face light up with confused smile. 

Thomas Shelby, ripping out pages from library books. His sister, stealing them. 

_God, what a family are we?_

Ada hid the book under her pillow and every night, she wetted the soft pages with tears.

No pencil, nor piece of paper, are close to her. Her legs feel too weak, threatening to give out if she stands up, so she closes her eyes again and allows herself to get lost in the thunderstorm of words in her mind, to dance in the rain and dodge the lightnings, until it'll slowly go blank.

Why can some fucking French girl sing about her love from thousands of gramophones all over Europe, and she isn't even allowed to say a word about it? 

-

  _(Sometimes, Ada speaks like a child._

_Sometimes like a poet, and often is a mixture of both and it comes every time Grace least expects it to._

_When she listens to music, thousands of expressions sculpt her face in miliseconds._

_She's like stars - thousands of lifes ended for her when she was a child, before the war, before the money and the guns and politics and the revolution, before the nights where none of them is asleep, and each is battling their own war, and losing on every wing. But she still shines with the light of them._

_That's the truth Grace keeps close to her heart, and secretly thinks her brother's do, too.)_

 

-

Everytime the song ends, the flat becomes scarily quiet.

If she concentrates really hard, it’s like Grace is right there with her. Maybe sitting on the couch above her, leaning down to kiss her on top of her head, combing her fingers through her hair, and Ada tilts her chin back. She almost feels her touch.

She still remembers the feeling of her hands on her fingers, her palm, forearm, shoulder, hair-

All of it nothing more or less than innocent displays of affection, comfort, excitement in various situations. all the little traces, as present as mist or breeze, and the intentional, braver, bolder touches; they all made Ada believe there's hope, this is it, this is love and desire and I know, I know, I love you-

And then ending suddenly. The only thing they left behind was the stinging aftertaste. 

But maybe, if she was really here, she’d sit right beside her, back leaned against the foot of the couch as well. A few inches away from Ada, and she could just reach out and tangle their arms together, entwine their fingers-

There's a knock on the door.

Ada freezes.

_Oh, no-_

The hinges creak.

_Fuck-_

She’s completely sober now. 

She kicks the bottle of rum under the table in attempt to hide it, but it smashes against the wood and shatters.

 _Fucking hell no shit fuck fuck fuck_ -

Furiously, she climbs to her feet to somehow clean it, but the alcohol in her blood slams the bill on the table and forces her to pay the price. Her vision goes black for a moment and she staggers. She touches her temple, instantly, and her hand fumbles for a moment before she grips the edge of the table. She has to sit down again.

Five seconds. Darkness and silence as she lowers herself to the floor.

 _Jesus fucking Christ on a bloody cross_ -

Grace is here. She's here.  _She came to rescue me,_  Ada thinks.

When she's able to see again, she raises her head.

She expects to see Grace still standing at the door, but she nearly jumps, becuse she is kneeling beside her. She puts her hand down on Ada's shoulder.

Ada shivers.

,,It's only me, Ade,'' she whispers, comforting her. 

Warmth spreads inside Ada's heart and for a split second, everything is perfect.  

Only her mother used to call her like that. 

Tommy, as well. Once. When they were little, when she broke her arm.  

Ada cringes at the memory and then, it's not.

,,Are you alright?'' Grace asks, rubs gentle circles onto her skin.

The tedious scratch of the finished side of a record is here again suddenly, flop, flop, flop, deafening in the silence, and it reminds Ada of herself. It's all the sudden returning fears and thoughts climbing to the surface once again, turning and spinning and like they did for the past few hours. Everything she prepared carefully to say, learned it like a mantra, has dissolved into the air and hid in the corners.

Say something, say something, saysomethingflopflopflopflop.

,...,Yeah...I just... couldn't sleep.'' 

That doesn't quite answer the question, and she feels a pang of  _wrong!_ inside her chest right after the words leave her mouth. She wants to cry and scream  _sorry, sorry, I love you, don't be angry, don't leave me, don't make me leave._

Grace doesn't say anything.

 _Silence is a lie_ , Ada thinks with bitter taste on her tongue.  _Always_. 

,,Ada, you're freezing.'' she scolds her caringly, then, quickly stroking her upper arm.

She takes a blanket from the couch, unfolds it, and covers Ada with it. Then she gets up to close the window, left slightly open the whole time. She doesn't question why Ada didn't close it

Ada shakes her head, to herself, as if to say that it's not coldness what makes Grace's touch on her skin feel scolding hot.

Grace lets out a surprised sound when she sees how huge the storm outside has got. The window is then closed, and her steps follow to the corner of the room.

After a few seconds, the scratching record falls silent.

Ada opens her eyes wide as something shifts in her chest. She turns her head in Grace's direction, and she wants to apologize, for some reason, but the words are missing.

The only light in the room comes from the lamp above Grace's couch, and it flickers when a thunder roars through the rain.

,,...I'll make you tea.'' Grace says, ,,...Alright?''

A strand of hair falls into her eyes and she pushes it away with the back of her finger, looking at Ada.

Ada shakes her head. ,,I don't want tea.''

_What do you want, then?_

_You._

Except Grace doesn't ask. Doesn't say anything.

For a second, she just stands silent. Then, she walks across the room and sits on the floor beside Ada.

Back against the foot of the couch. Arm inches away from hers.

Exactly like she imagined.

Suddenly, Ada feels incredibly sleepy.

She leans her head on Grace's shoulder. Covers her with the blanket as well.

That's safe. It's nice.  _We've done this before_ , Ada thinks, and the innocent comfort never fails to make her chest all warm and fluttery.

Grace leans her head on top of hers.

She always does.

Ada feels like crying. 

Sometimes she wonders how many moments like these does it take to slip into intimacy. She doesn't know, but decides that it's her favourite number.

 

-

_(It's one of those nights._

_The thin, blueish veins on her forearms are visible and there's stardust flowing through them._

_The dark red lipstick is smudged around her lips and it gets pressed around her cigarette in a circle as she takes a drag, fingers shaky._

_Karl is sleeping in the bedroom._

_Grace strokes Ada's wrist._

_Her chest aches._

_,,I'm sorry,'' Ada keeps repeating._

_Her eyes got more vary, observant, full of wisdom, after the childbirth._

_,,It's okay. It's alright,'' Grace says in return._

_A thin sheet of sweat is glistening on her forehead, and she leans closer and wipes it away with her sleeve. Ada's eyes flutter close with a sight of relief._

_It's a mesmerizing battle of colours, all the versions of love.)_

_-_

 

A thunder roars behind the windows. The rain streams down the glass.

The clock ticking almost disappears in the noise.

Grace's fingers are warm and soft where they rest on the floor between them, entwined with Ada's.

She notices how sweaty, slippery her own palm is. 

,,Is Karl asleep?'' she asks.

Grace nods.

He's so much calmer, now, since they moved to London. Sleeps and laughs more, doesn't cry that often.

Grace looks like a better mother than Ada, when she carries him, sings him goodnight, when she sits in a chair by the crib with thick, knitted socks on, half asleep, and moves her hand for hours so he has something to watch.

,,I dreamt about us,'' she says.

_Me too._

Grace always talks more when she's sleepy. Her voice is soft, her words become more slurred and the accent so much thicker, and Ada wants to hear her talk more, more, wants to soak it all in.

,,...About... us  _three_?''  

Grace nods. ,,We were in Paris. And we all bought shoes... red, I think they were red. And we chased some... pink cat up the Eiffel Tower.''

Ada bursts out laughing. Grace is a blessing. ,,A pink cat?''

She nods, snorting. ,,Yeah.''

,,And then?''

,,...I think... wait, wait. I think we were stealing a... a cake. Which was a horse. And his name was Charleston.''

Ada could roll on the floor if it hadn't been for today. She still laughs and makes the awful snorting sound, like a pig, when she inhales.

She hates it, but Grace doesn't. It makes her laugh, too.

,,And then?''

,,...I don't know.''

,,Why?''

,,I woke up.''  

Ada's chest goes  _,oh.'_

,,It was the music, wasn't it?  _I_  woke you up, right?''

Her voice is quiet and hoarse, laced with guilt.

Grace shakes her head. Her hair flaps around her face with the movement. ,,No... it was the storm. And then i was thirsty.''

 _The rum_ , the words make an association in Ada's mind. 

She sighs deeply. ,,Yeah... I'm sorry for the...'' she vaguely gestures to the table.

,,It's alright.''

Some brown shards are showing from behind the table.

_It's not._

,,Did you drink something, then?'' Ada asks.

Grace looks like she has to think about it for a moment. Then shakes her head. 

After a minute, Ada is back from the kitchen with a glass of water. Grace smiles and takes it from her with both hands. Ada goes back to pour herself one, too, and when she returns again, Grace is still waiting like that, her water untouched, and only when Ada finally sits on the floor beside her and they clink their glasses together, she lifts it to her lips. 

Ada finishes it first. Smiles and asks Grace ,,It's better, innit?'' after she does.

Grace nods as she swallows the last sip.

Her head turns to the silent gramophone. The moment her face disappears for a second, Ada swears the scratching record of fears and thunder of memories is here again.

,,...Is that song your favourite?''

Ada closes her eyes.

 _Here we go_.

Her hands tremble when she takes a breath, and she mentally thanks Grace for holding them.

,,No.'' 

Grace's hair tickles her shoulder as she nods once, in understanding.

The silence after is a bit of a lie. 

 _What is this?_  

The familiar pain creeps inside Ada's chest and her stomach sinks.

 

_-_

_(It'll haunt her in nightmares for the rest of her life, the fateful minute.)_

_-_

_(Campbell waits. Waits._

_It looks like he can't decide._

_Grace watches the battle in the twitch of his mouth, the shake of his arm, flashing thoughts in his violent, hateful eyes._

_Sometimes, the man reminds her of her father._

_Grace's hands don't shake._

_But suddenly, Ada's there. Bright and beautiful in her mind._

_It's a brief, glorious second of peace, dread, hate, love, of every confession she hasn't made._

_,,I will wait for you there,'' she said, and Karl was crying in her arms when Grace knocked on her door at two in the morning and gave her the address._

_Ada. Waiting for her._

_It's a terrifying thought._

_Campbell's look shifts._

_-_

_The sound of his gun hitting the pavement is more deafening than the shoot._

_-_

_The blood soaks through his trousers._

_Grace doesn't say goodbye, only turns around and heads to the train._

_The clatter of her shoes against the sidewalk feels like a stranger._

_,,It's the Shelby whore, isn't it?!''_

_Campbell's voice is strangled, like he has blood in his mouth, too._

_,,Tell me!!''_

_Grace gets inside the train, finds the furthest coupe, sinks down on the seat, and cries.)_

-

 

Ada has realized long, very long ago, that she doesn't want more, she  _needs_  it, craves it with everything she is, was, will be, everything she isn't yet and anymore. With the brokenness of her soul after parts of her had died in the house she grew up in. With all the pasts inside her that she has not buried properly, and they come to haunt her in her dreams every night. 

How will her damaged love ever be enough?

How will she return the way Grace's love makes her feel whole, complete, the way it heals the old wounds and protects her from new ones?

These aren't only thoughts in Ada's mind anymore, it's the scurf of fear covering her heart like rain drying on one's skin. It's what makes her heart scream she's not worthy every time Grace shows her kindness. It's what terrifies her and scars her heart deeper than any knife would be able to cut, it's bullets slowly growing inside of her stomach, it's the roar of machine guns in her ears when she lays silent, unmoving in her bed, and it's dark, dark, dark.

Mostly, it's what makes her scoff every time Tommy snarls that it's  _men_  who came back from war. 

 _Maybe you came back. But we've never stopped fighting._  

-

Grace strokes her forefinger with her thumb. She smells like sun and warm sheets and sleep. 

Ada imagines her mouth tastes the same.

_This is love, this is love, but what is it, please, say something, do something, anything, define this, it's been 358 days and every second it gets even worse and you're driving me crazy._

She's speaking to herself.

,,What's  _your_  favourite song?'' she asks, needs to break the silence.

Grace stiffens beside her.

 -

_(,,Happy, or sad?'' she remembers herself ask, met with Tommy's broken stare._

_It feels wrong, as if she's betraying Ada._

_Betraying herself._

_Because the opposite poles melted into one before Ada even touched her hand for the first time.)_

_-_

 

 

She turns her head to Ada. Her eyes are warm, searching. The little smile settles in the corners of her lips, the lines around the mouth that always get deeper when she's exhausted.

Slowly, her fingers abandon Ada's. 

(The room goes a bit cold after that.)

She stands up and fixes her nightgown, out of habit, before she walks to the corner of the room. She crouches before the small basket, where she keeps the records. Ada catches a few that she already knows by the cover. It doesn't take Grace long before picking one out. 

Ada's hands begin to shake. 

It's quiet. The rain disappears, the ticking of the clock fades. There's just the sound of Grace's fingers placing the needle down. It resonates in Ada's ears, even though she's so far away. 

She doesn't breathe when it lands.

 _Thump-whirl-shick!_  

Piano and saxophone fill the room. 

It's a slower, jazzy, wavy, melody, tied together by a bit reluctant percussion. 

And it's torturously familiar. 

_The evening._

_Red, red, red._

Grace, barefoot, watering plants with her eyes closed, and then almost dropping the can with a gasp when she noticed Ada standing at the door.

Now, she is slowly walking closer to her. Her head hangs a little low, and her hands are clasped together by her forefingers. 

She finally stands before her. Reaches her palm out with a gentle smile.

,,Ada…’’ she says quietly, ,,will you dance with me?’’

Ada feels like she's not worthy the question.

She realizes her lips are parted, after a moment. Grace waits patiently, but her eyes are nervous. Unsure.

Hoping.

Ada begins to stand up. Gets up on one knee, and right away, her eyelids turn pitch black, her head weighs a tonne.

She grips Grace‘s arm by her sleeve, tight. Grace catches her before she can fall.

She still staggers a bit, wobbly on her knees, like she’s been sitting here for the whole war.

,,It’s alright,’’ soothes her Grace, ,,I’ve got you.’’

_Please._

Ada manages to stand up. Her body and limbs feel stiff and out of control, and she thanks heavens for Grace’s hands that are soft, but firm, where they grip her arm and hip.

She raises her head to look Grace in the eyes.  

(Her legs almost give out again)

Grace takes a hold of Ada’s hands.

Something akin to electricity shoots up her spine.

They’re soft, lean, elegant, a bit sweaty. Her thumb is grazing along Ada’s knuckles and then it slides downwards, to the inside of her palm, and they intertwine their fingers together.

Grace’s eyes flicker down for a second, to watch the movement.

Ada doesn’t wait. Starts to climb up her forearms, over the bumps of her wrists, until she settles in the bends of her elbows, and halfway to that, Grace is already nodding, returning the same favour.

The sleeves of Ada’s nightgown get pushed up. The cold air hits her skin.

It kinda feels like the wind is blowing through her naked bones.

And they look at each other and smile; they're alone in the room, but it's still a thrilling secret, something only both of them share. Something the world is searching for.

Ada wraps her arms around Grace's waist and pulls her close.

 

 _(They always find it._ _)_  

 

Their breath gets mixed. Hot and uneven as it bumps against Ada's mouth.

Grace lifts her hands and tangles them into Ada's hair, starts combing her fingers through the greasy mess. Ada's eyes flutter close, a sigh travels past her lips. Her nails briefly dig into Grace's shoulder blades.

The songs unfolds around them more and more. The saxophone entwines fingers with the lofty piano melody, and then they swing arms for a few moments, before parting with a melancholic sigh, a jovial, light-hearted chuckle at the same time. The percussion stays the same, the entire time, reliable, familiar in the background. 

Ada drops her head onto Grace's shoulder.

She gasps softly in return. Ada feels the sound before she hears it.

And Christ, her skin, her warmth, her smell, is more tantalizing the closer she gets, but she still needs more, more.

 _Blue._ The morning. Their reflection staring at them from the mirror.

She almost didn't recognize herself.

For a few seconds, she feels like looking into that mirror again, can't bring herself to believe that this is finally real, happening right in her arms, in her hair, on her back, on her nape as Grace grips it lightly.

Her lips itch, where they hover inches above Grace's skin.

,,...Can I...?'' she whispers, just breathing the words into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Grace nods, her throat twitching as she swallows. ,,Yes... please...''

Everything is big and historical, threatening to drown her in this sea of wonderful sensations. But how could that scare her, when she’s already swimming to the bottom, and for the first time in her life, feels like she can breathe?

Ada closes her eyes and slowly lays her mouth down, lips just tenderly brushing against Grace’s skin, breathing out a tiny kiss. A soft gasp and a shudder are her response. She arches her neck, showing Ada she wants more. Ada is never one to disappoint. 

There’s a thin sheet of electricity covering Grace’s skin, she’s sure, the second she darts her tongue to kiss her skin properly, for the first time. It’s warm, so warm, smooth and salty, and she slowly kisses the tiny drops of sweat away as she breathes in shakily above him. Her nails dig into her shoulders, and her fingers find their way into Ada’s hair, pulling ever so slightly.

Ada makes a strangled sound, instinctively drawing her closer.

Grace cups her face with her palms and rests their foreheads together. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, clouded with want. Over the time, Ada noticed that they’re either green or blue, depending on the light. She would gladly use two lifetimes on describing them.

Now, they’re comforting, warmer than ever, exactly how she needs them to be, when she expects Grace to disappear from her arms in any moment, expects the dream to end with a gasp to the darkness again. She can already feel the tears, bitter and heavy on her tongue. 

,,…Please…’’ she whispers, close to crying, ,,…Don’t leave…’’

Grace shakes her head, combing her fingers through her hair and stroking her cheek.  

,,…I won’t…’’ she breathes out, ,,…I want to stay… with you…’’

For the first time in her life, Ada feels the walls in her heart break down.

The wind blows through it too, and she lets it.

She kisses Grace.

 

_(Her lips are even softer, warmer, than how they felt on her neck.)_

 

It's soft.

It's not enough and it's exactly what they both need. It lasts for seconds, but it feels like an eternity, and it's all the urgency and hurried lust and admiration and everything in between. 

It's happening, it's happening, it's happening.

All the black lines are finally being painted in with all the colours Ada never thought she could see.

When they pull away, she doesn't feel like herself. She also feels like herself, entirely, completely, for the first time.

Grace smiles widely, cups Ada's face in her hands and bites her lip, for a moment Ada thinks she might get lost in all of this, in her dilated pupils, shuddering breath, in the small eternity of her warm palms. 

She watches the smile scoop dimples into her cheeks. Her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheekbones every time her blink cuts a moment in half and spins it around on its heels, sending it dancing naked under the clouds of her blush. She lifts her hand shakily to touch her cheek, cupping it in her palm, grazing it with the back of her finger. 

Grace's thin lips part with a wet sound when she rests her palm in the middle of her bottom lip, and she gently grabs her chin and doesn't wait a second longer, leans in and-

The thunder hits the ground with a roar.

The room turns black and silent.

The feeling of Grace is Ada's arms is completely new once again. 

,,Fuck,'' Grace laughs breathlessly after a moment, drops her head onto Ada's shoulder.

Her head spins.

Hearing Grace swear has always been an experience close to sinful, to Ada. It made her throat run dry and the inside of her eyelids turn the colour of all the dirty thoughts that swirl in her mind a second after the dream is over. 

Now, she yanks her closer, snatches her jaw and blindly crashes their mouths together again.

Grace accepts the sudden roughness without a word. She sighs into the kiss and wraps her arms around Ada's neck. 

Ada's hand finds its way up into her hair, and it's soft and silky when she tangles her fingers into it. She doesn't miss the whimper escaping her lips nor the quick dig of her nails into her shoulders, and both ignites a fire within her, suddenly making her curious what other sounds she can make. so she abandons her mouth to trail kisses over her jaw and down her neck. Her skin tastes and smells like apples and tulips, and Ada slowly licks away the thin sheet of sweat covering her skin. It makes Grace throw her head backwards with a gasp, straining her neck to give Ada more access while burying her hands in her hair too.

,,Yes... please...'' she whispers, out of breath.

Christ. The darkness gives everything a new dimension.

Ada nods, and together they stumble to the couch.

She gives Grace's chest a gentle push and as her back meets the cushions with a soft thud, she sees an outline of her mischievous smile, hid underneath the shadows.

 It's art, what they've become, together. 

Carefully, Ada climbs into her lap. Grace immediately pulls her close, and Ada's fingers get tangled up in her hair once again, because it's so soft, and because she hisses and throws her head back every time she pulls on it.

She pins her wrists to the armrest. Feels her nod and arch her body into hers.

It's all unexpectedly natural, the way she falls apart so obediently under a bit of roughness from Ada's side. Ada trails kisses along her collarbone, biting slightly every now and then.   

,,Come here...'' she whispers, breathy and almost distant, like she's muttering it to herself.

She sinks down on the couch a little bit, gestures for Ada to lean closer to her, and slowly, her lips press into Ada's neck and suck a wet, biting kiss.

For a split second, Ada thinks the power's on again, because of how intensely the white hot light flashes behind her eyelids. 

She moans. It sounds like  _yes_ , or like a cry of Grace's name, or like a mixture of both, but it doesn't make Grace stop, fortunately.

,,Ada... more... please...'' she whispers between kisses, and her voice is hoarse.

That settles it.

Clothes becomes a barrier, the need to get everything off more urgent now than ever before. 

Grace's hands find their way up Ada's stomach, pushing the nightgown away, wandering across her sides, grazing against her chest bone. Ada sits back on her heels and helps her to take it off in a swift motion, even though her hands get tangled up in the sleeves, a little bit.

In the dark, Grace looks even more like a sin. Ada throws the nightgown on the floor and snatches the hem of hers, too. Starts to push it up her ribs.

,,You're beautiful,'' she breathes against her stomach, like a kiss.

Grace shakes her head, tries to pull her up by her shoulder. ,, _You_  are.'' 

Ada says it again. Presses it against her chest, on both of her shoulders, along her collarbones, up her neck, under her jaw, onto her ear, into her hair, inside her lips. 

Repeats it over and over, until Grace believes it, pulls her down and silences her with an open-mouthed kiss. 

_Flick-f-lick!_

The lamp lights up again.

 

_(,,Why me?'' she asks.)_

 

One. Two seconds.

Ada stares at Grace. Grace stares at Ada. 

Their eyes take in the sight once again. They get used to it, and they don't.

Then, with a smile, Grace's hand climbs above their heads, reaches for the switch.

Ada catches her forearm.

Leans forward. 

,,In all the world,'' she says, ,,there's no love for you like mine.'' 

 

 

_(Oh, darling_

_loving you_

_is a splendid adventure.)_

 

 

 

_\------_

 


End file.
